


Provocation

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Blood, Branding, CBT, Cutting, Impact, Knife Play, M/M, Punching, Slapping, Slurs, clothespins, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 22:03:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9462050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Anti pays Mark a visit.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Banjogoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banjogoat/gifts).



> Writtne for the lovely @Banjogoat! Hope you enjoy, friend! 
> 
> I'm aware that some of the practices in this fic are unsafe - please do your research before trying stuff like branding!

Antiseptic strutted into Mark's kitchen like he owned the place. 

He did, as far as he was concerned. 

Mark didn't hear him, at least at first.

Big muscle dummy didn't hear him at first - he was too busy concentrating on whatever it was he was cooking.

"Hey there, Markimoo," said Anti, leaning against a counter.

"Gah!" Mark actually jumped, nearly dropping the knife he was using to chop the onions. He glared over his shoulder at his boyfriend's weird doppelganger. "What are you doing here?"

"Bored," Anti said. He stared at Mark's back, as the other man went back to his chopping. He could see Mark's muscles moving through his shirt, and he was beautiful enough that something unpleasant twisted in the strange thing in Anti's chest that he called a heart.

"So how did you get in here?" Mark sounded resigned, which was a bit to be expected - Anti just popped up when he felt like it.

"Oh, I have my ways," said Anti, and he reached out for Mark, putting his cold hands on Mark's waist, nuzzling into his neck. "How about you get that stick out of your ass and try having some actual fun."

"I'm busy," said Mark, through clenched teeth.

Anti smiled, with a few too many teeth.

"You're too busy for me?" Anti pitched his voice a little higher, pressing even closer.

He had a boner - he'd had half a boner since he'd come into the place, and it was nice to finally have something nice and warm to just press it against, especially when it was the pain in the ass goody two shoes. 

Although he had... plans for this encounter. Sort of.

It'd be entertaining, if nothing else.

"You know sounding like Jack isn't going to make me give you any more attention, right?" 

"You don't want to pretend that I'm your idiot little green bean?" 

"Don't talk about him like that," Mark said. 

"What, that he's just an idiot who wouldn't know volume control if it bit him in the arse, and only gets any attention out of pity?"

"Would you just shut up?"

"Make me."

Mark groaned and shrugged Anti's hands off of him, putting the knife down. He shoved Anti back a few steps by arching his back, then turned around, so that they were facing each other. 

"I don't know what your problem is," he told Anti, "but just... leave me alone."

"No," said Anti. "I don't want to." 

And he punched Mark in the stomach.

Mark doubled over, gasping, dry heaving. Then he stood up, his expression very, very angry.

"Fuck off," Mark snarled. "I'm not putting up with your bullshit today. I've got shit to do."

"Record more videos, for a bunch of fans who will forget about you once you turn thirty? Pine after your stupid boyfriend, off banging someone else's wife - "

"We're in an open relationship," Mark said, and his fists were starting to clench.

"Suuuure you are. We both know that if you actually satisfied him, you'd be enough." Anti could see how angry Mark was getting - his fists were starting to clench. "Maybe he doesn't love you at all. Didja think of that, Markimoo? Maybe he doesn't even like dick, he's just staying with you, out of some misguided pity, since the only people who'd actually, willingly fuck you are your underage fans, and even you haven't sunk so low as to -"

The pain from Mark's punch burst over through his head like the flash from an atom bomb, and he staggered back, his back hitting the counter. He landed on his ass, jolting up his spine, almost biting his tongue.

Fucking _finally_! 

He grinned up at Mark. 

"Not so above it all, eh?" Anti's head was already beginning to throb in time with his heart. "You're just a fucking twat, aren't you? Deep down inside, you're just as dark as I am."

"Provoking someone into punching you, and then going on about how they're as dark as you are, isn't proof of the "true darkness in my heart" or whatever shit you're going on about."

Anti stared up at him, and he liked to think he was positively _radiating_ malevolence. 

"Really? You think your buddies would resort to punching quite as quickly as you thought it would be?" Anti stood up, and he shoved at Mark's chest.

Ineffectively, admittedly, but still. 

"You've been getting on my fucking nerves for fuck knows how long, and now you're in here when I'm actually having a good day, and you're just here to ruin it." 

"Why's it such a good day, huh? Where's your stupid little boyfriend?" Anti stayed on the ground, but he placed one hand on Mark's leg. The guy was wearing shorts, and Anti squeezed his calf appreciatively. 

Idiot might... well, be an idiot, but damn if he didn't have an amazing physique. 

"Get off of me," Mark said roughly, and he kicked Anti off, still panting heavily. 

"You're just a fucking pussy," Anti says, and he digs his nails in, which gets Mark to kick him again, harder. "C'mon. You can even go on a free for all with me. You know I'm not a real person! I can take so much punishment. Get rid of all that dark shit in your head, without having to bother your precious little Jackaboy about it!"

"That's not something I'm touching with a ten foot pole," Mark mumbled, and he made a point of going back to chopping his vegetables, and Anti glared up at him.

How fucking dare that twat ignore him. 

Anti leaned forward, and he sank his teeth into Mark's calf, right where the muscle was bulging, as Mark shifted is weight from foot to foot.

Mark howled, and he spun around, glaring down at Anti, still holding the knife in his hand. 

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?" Mark snarled, and he actually drew his foot back and kicked Anti in the side, which was... super uncomfortable, but the throbbing, dull ache made Anti's cock wake up as well. 

"I'm bored," Anti whined, as needy as a small child. "Entertain me."

"I'm not here for your entertainment," Mark said. 

He was still wielding the long chef's knife. 

Anti's eyes went from the knife to Mark's face, and he grinned wide. 

"You should cut me."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Mark looked genuinely disgusted. "This is a knife for food. Not for your... bullshit whatever it is."

"I don't care. Cut me." Jack stood up again, shaky. His jaw was throbbing where he had been punched, and his ribs were sore.

"Can't you go bother Dark?" Mark was resolutely chopping away at those onions, and his eyes were watering just a bit. Was that the onions, or was it the emotions that were no doubt raging in his big, dumb head. 

"No. I want to bother you." Anti grabbed the hand holding the knife, and he tried to pull it towards him. "If you do what I ask you to, I'll stop bothering you." 

"Or you could just fuck off," said Mark. 

"Never," said Anti. He leaned forward, and he sank his teeth into Mark's shoulder, right where his neck met his torso.

Anti had very sharp teeth. Apparently, Mark hadn't realized this. He howled like a beast, spasming against Anti, and then he shoved Anti away, forcing him against the opposite counter. 

"If you keep pushing," Mark warned, "you won't like the consequences." 

"What consequences?" Anti taunted, wriggling against Mark, grinding his cock against Mark's thigh. "You gonna cry? You big fucking pussy. No wonder you're not enough for Jack. Or for anyone."

Something in those sweet brown eyes got... darker. Angrier. Something was in there that Anti didn't entirely recognize, but he wanted more of it, whatever it was.

Mark didn't say anything. Just slapped Anti on the face, hard enough that it took him a minute to register the pain of it, and when he did, his cock twitched against Mark's thigh, because Mark's thigh was between his own. 

"Is that the best you can do?" Anti snarled, and... wow, Mark's face was getting... very calm. 

Calm wasn't expected.

"You're being a brat," said Mark. "Is that why you're bothering me? Because you're not getting enough attention elsewhere?"

"Shut up," Anti said, and he hated how sulky he sounded.

"Did I strike a nerve?" Mark sounded... amused now, even with his angry expression, and that was enough to make Anti downright _angry_ lunging at Mark - or at least, trying to.

Mark had him pinned by the hips. 

"That's not very nice," Mark said, in a lecturing tone of voice. "I guess you don’t understand how this type of thing usually works."

"You're talking about your bullshit safewords, stuff like that?" Jack rolled his eyes. "Takes the fun out of things."

"You don't want safewords, or safety? Fine." Mark put the knife down.

Mark wrapped one of his huge hands around Anti's throat. 

"You don't need safewords," he said in that same calm, clear voice. "You obviously don't need any kind of safety anything, in one direction or the other." 

He squeezed.

Anti wheezed, but he grinned. 

"You're... you're a fucking pussy. You think this is the worst you can... do?" His head was starting to pound, and the blood in his ears was very loud. 

Mark's other hand lashed out, and it hit Anti in the face. Hard enough that Anti's ears rang a bit more, and he was beginning to grey out a bit, which couldn't entirely be a good thing - even evil entities need to keep most of their brain cells.

He squirmed, trying to kick Mark, but Mark took a handful of green hair, forcing their eyes to meet, and the look on his face was a bit unsettling.

Those big, friendly features looking... not even malicious. Not angry, apart from the slight clench of the jaw.

Just... bored, almost. As if this was slightly more entertaining than playing with his big stupid dog, but not by much. 

"You don't want safewords," said Mark, and his voice was coming from a very long way off, his big hand squeezing so hard that no air was whistling out of Anti's throat, and everything was going a bit dark around the edges, a bit grey. "You don't want safewords, so you're not getting any."

Anti clawed at Mark's arm, grabbing at his wrist, trying to get him to let go, because sexy fun times are all well and good (especially antagonistic ones), but there are limits.

Which, admittedly, Anti hadn't reached, but still.

That look in Mark's eye was... a bit unsettling. 

Mark let go of Anti's throat, just as Anti's knees were starting to sag. He drew his hand back, and he slapped Anti hard, on each side of his face, not even bothering to be safe about it, catching Anti's cheekbone in the process, and that was another sharp burst of pain that left Anti moaning like he was being paid for it, shakily, through his sore throat. 

“That’s what I’m talking about,” he slurred, or he tried to, because the hand was back around his throat again, and the other hand was in his hair, pulling so hard that his eyes were starting to cross, from the lack of air, and from the pain. 

The pain that was forcing its way through Anti’s mind, like a worm through an apple, only more squishy.

… well, that was a simile.

Maybe some of Mark’s stupid was rubbing off on him.

“Fuck off,” Anti mumbled, the second time Mark let him have a breath of air. “You call that bein’... fuckin’ dangerous? You’re kidding me, right?” 

And then Anti was shoved onto his back, hard enough that the back of his head hit the linoleum, and that hurt so much that he kind of wanted to throw up, but in a good way, because all of this was feeding whatever twisted weird thing it was that beat in his chest like a migraine.

Kind of like the migraine that was starting to sprout, thudding in time with Anti’s heartbeat 

Mark got on Anti’s chest, putting all of his weight into it, and Anti’s chest was being crushed, he couldn’t breathe, it was… it was….

It was fucking amazing. He could probably cum from this - maybe if Mark spat on him, or kicked him some more as well. 

There was something so satisfying about riling up the dark little corners of the goody two shoes mind. Both for the delicious pain, and for the guilt that always crossed his face, like he’d just kicked his precious pooch or some shit like that. 

Although you’d think that the big idiot would have realized, by now, that Anti was deliberately needling him. 

Fuckin’ idiot.

That was Anti’s last thought, before he lost consciousness. 

* * * 

He woke up on the floor, with Mark’s concerned face over his. 

“Are you alright?” 

That rich, deep voice, so full of sweetness and worry.

It made him sick. 

He swung, getting Mark right in the jaw, which made the other man rear back with a bellow, and he punched Anti in the chest. 

Anti wheezed, but he was laughing, his throat rough from all of the choking.

“I fucking got you,” Anti cackled. “Fucking got you, you fucking twat!” 

"You're seriously telling me that you view this as "getting" me? Like some kind of stupid joke?" Mark snorted, looking unimpressed. "I literally choked you until you passed out."

"Yeah," said Anti. "but look at that lovely bruise you've got bloomin' on your face, huh?" He was smirking harder, his eyes going down to Mark's crotch. 

The guy even had, like, half a chub!

"If you're so high and mighty, why do you have a boner?" Anti indicated with his foot, nearly getting Mark in the balls with his knee.

Mark jerked back, looking guilty and slightly panicked, although was that due to moral stuff, or just not wanting any trauma to his delicate bits?

"You've got a full on boner," Mark pointed out, and he was still hovering over Anti, his legs bracketing Anti's. 

"Yes, but I'm evil, that's different." Anti ran one bare foot against the back of Mark's leg. sliding up the leg of Mark's loose basketball shorts. 

"Whatever," said Mark, sounding frustrated. "You got your attention. You happy?"

"Not even close," said Anti, and he kicked Mark (clumsily, with his heel) on the back of the knee, forcing Mark's knee to buckle, and he was right on top of Anti again, a big, warm body.

"What is your fucking problem?" Mark growled, his face scrunching up from the pain. They were pressed close enough together that Anti could feel Mark's voice vibrating through his chest. It made Anti's skin buzz.

"What do you mean, what's my fucking problem?" Anti grinned at Mark, aware that his teeth were catching the light, aware that there were more of them than were strictly necessary, and that they were quite sharp. 

"Why are you bugging me?" Mark made to get up, but Anti grabbed him by the hair, pulling him closer, until he could kiss Mark on the mouth, swallowing his displeased noises. 

Mark froze, then kissed him back. There was a tinge of shame to it, but there was a tinge of shame to Mark every time he did something interesting. It was probably written somewhere in his DNA - if he ever had some fun without actually feeling guilty for it, he'd probably die or ascend to heaven, or some shit.

Mark's lips were gentle, almost tender, and they were pricked easily enough by Anti's teeth. Mark's blood was salty, and Anti could taste the salt and the iron in it.

Mark pulled back, and his lips were red with blood, his eyes dark with lust or anger or who even knew what. 

"Why do you insist on making me bleed? Are you a vampire or some shit?"

"Oh, no," said Anti. "I just like the taste."

"Well, aren't you just a cute little edgelord," said Mark, deadpan. 

He made a surprised noise when Anti grabbed his ass. 

"You're so fucking boring," Anti sighed. "You don't do anything interesting."

"Maybe that's a sign that you should stop bothering me," Mark said, in a tone that was sarcastic enough that Anti was almost impressed. 

"I know you've got some fun stuff in you, somewhere under all the bullshit," said Anti. "You and Dark are related, you know. On a... spiritual level."

Anti didn't entirely understand how it worked - he and Jack were similar, although he tried not to think about it. 

"So why don't you go bother Dark?" Mark, despite his insistence that he wasn't getting anything out of this, wasn't moving. If anything, his cock was getting harder against Anti's thigh. 

Further proof that Anti was right! 

"Because he's easy to rile up. And he does everything by rote. It's fuckin' boring."

"So you think you can push me until I snap, and then you'll get your entertainment?"

"Something like that." Anti grinned, unrepentant.

"So if I make it... "interesting" to you, you'll leave me alone?" Mark seemed to be working something out in his head. 

"Something like that," said Anti. 

It was a lie, but Mark didn't need to know that. 

"What would make it interesting to you?"

"Make me afraid," said Anti. "Scare me. If you genuinely scare me, I'll go away."

"Forever."

"I'll go away," said Anti. 

"And you just want to be afraid?"

"Yes." Anti put on a pitiful expression, but it didn't last more than a few seconds. "Would you believe me if I told you that I have trouble experiencing any emotions, so I can only feel the intense ones?" 

"I'd say you're playing me for sympathy," said Mark. He licked the blood off of his lips, wiping his chin on the back of his hand. He stood up, and Anti let him, this time. 

"So what if I am? Would it work?" 

"I guess we're about to see," said Mark, and he sounded almost... dangerous. 

Well.

That was novel. 

* * * 

The knife was cold. It was very cold, as it ran along Anti's chest, the flat of it pressing down. It was cold even through the thin fabric of Anti's t-shirt. 

Anti was pressed against the wall, and Mark was running the knife - a cheap knife that he apparently wasn't afraid to sully with Anti's ichor or whatever the black tar in his veins was. 

But Mark was just... doing it like he'd do at any kink party. Just running it along him, for the sensation or some bullshit like that. 

Fucking boring.

Anti, who had kept his hands at his sides, grabbed Mark's wrist, and he forced Mark's hand to press the knife edge against his chest, right between his nipples. 

"I'm not some stupid mortal," he sneered. "And I'm not gonna go crying to some authority if you actually cut me. But fuckin'... god forbid, you use a knife for what it's actually for."

Instead of crumpling like wet tissue paper, or apologizing, or all the other pathetic shit that Mark did when he was confronted, the man... _wrapped his hand around Anti's throat._

"Fine," said Mark, and his voice sounded... surprisingly close to Darkiplier. Holy shit. "You want to be scared?" Mark squeezed, pressing into the bruises already around Anti's neck. 

“You already ch-choked me,” mumbled Anti, as his ears began to rush and his cock began to thicken in his pants, swelling and pressing against his zipper through his underwear. 

“Shut up,” said Mark, and he… he actually turned the knife on its side, and the sharpness was pressed into Anti’s skirt, tearing his shirt and cutting a thin line along his skin.

It stung, more than anything else - it was a surprisingly sharp knife, considering the fact that it had lived in Mark’s junk drawer for who even knew how long. 

The ichor-tar-who-knew-what dripped down, staining Anti’s shirt, dripping down his stomach, onto the waistband of his pants. 

“That’s what I mean,” Anti said, or at least tried to. It was hard, with the hand around his throat. There was something like joy blooming in his chest. 

Finally. Some _proper_ pain, and something like triumph in Mark’s face. 

“You just wanted me to slice you up?” Mark sounded… almost disgusted. “You couldn’t have just opened your mouth and said “Hey Mark, could you cut me up a bit”?” 

“No, because then you would have d-d-done it the stupid way,” Anti wheezed. 

“You mean with scalpels and rubbing alcohol and actually doing it right?” Mark squeezed again, and he drew another cut down the other side, almost hitting Anti’s nipple. 

Anti’s eyes fluttered shut, and he was really wheezing, trying to take in as much air as he could, until Mark let go of his throat.

To grab the collar of Anti’s shirt, and then he just… ripped it. 

_Holy fuck._

It shouldn’t have been such a shock - the guy was made of muscles, after all. But still. He didn’t usually… display them so blatantly. 

The hand was removed from Anti’s throat, and there was something cold and metal right up against his neck. 

Anti went very, very still. 

The metal stung, and he could feel a small cut open up, right under his chin, a little trickle of tarry ichor dripping down to puddle between his nipples. 

"You know," Mark said, nonchalant, "for someone who seems to be constantly trying to get me to beat them up, you're awfully pale."

"That... that doesn't even make sense," Anti gasped out, panting. 

"No? You're turning pale because you're scared," said Mark, his voice still calm. "I could slit your throat right now, and my only worry would be having to clean out my kitchen of all that stuff that's coming out of you."

"I'm always pale," said Anti, and he was trembling. He was really trembling, so hard that his hands were shaking, and his mouth was dry.

The fear was curdling in his gut like so much bad milk, and that in and of itself was pretty novel. He didn't usually get scared like this. 

Fuck, it was _amazing_. 

"You're usually not this pale," said Mark. His voice was shaking, ever so slightly. 

Big idiot couldn't even manage to be threatening without wussing out. 

"You don't have the fuckin' balls to even think about doing something like that," said Anti, and as he said it, his own voice wasn't shaking. 

That was a good thing. 

Wouldn't do to look like a wuss in front of this idiot. 

"I could cut your face off," Mark said, his voice still calm, still quiet. He brought the knife up, along Anti's cheek. "I could cut it off, so you'd stop wandering around looking like Jack. I could probably give it to Jack. Since it's his face to begin with."

The knife sliced a thin cut along Anti's jaw, then another one, right under his ear. 

"You sound like a fucking serial killer out of a movie," said Anti. "A shitty horror movie, too. Not even a Netflix original."

"Do you ever shut up?" The knife moved to Anti's chest. "I could cut your nipples off? Since you're not using them." The flat of the knife was cold - warmer, but still cold - against Anti's nipple, and Anti shivered convulsively. 

"You stole that from Game of Thrones," Anti said accusingly. 

"I'm weirded out that you watch Game of Thrones," said Mark, bringing the knife back to Anti's face, across the other cheek. "Where do you even come from?"

"Your mortal mind could never comprehend it," said Anti, because that was a lot better than having a whole conversation about the metaphysics of all of this business. 

"Try me," said Mark, and the knife was... awfully close to Anti's eye, that was close enough that it was downright alarming.

Then Mark caught sight of Anti's face, and he lowered the knife with a worried expression, and that just ruined the whole thing. 

"Are you alright?" 

Anti snorted.

"You had to do that? You had to fucking bring that up?" He gestured at the knife, which was now a safe distance. "You were being so fucking awesome, for once in your pathetic life, and now you're ruining it by being a total _pussy_!"

Anti heard the slap before he actually felt it. One moment, Mark's hand was drawn back, the next, it was on Anti's face. There wasn't any transition. It just happened. 

Then the pain hit, and it was a blossom that filled Anti's head for a moment, taking over his other senses.

He was leaking into his jeans, his cock so hard that the fucker would explode soon, if he didn't get his rocks off.

"Do you think maybe you'd get farther in life if you quit antagonizing people?" 

That same tone of polite inquiry, as if Mark was asking after the state of the weather, or maybe a new video game. 

Not as if he had a little bit of ichor on his hand, from where he had slapped Anti. 

The cuts on Anti's face were even worse now, throbbing and oozing the thick substance. 

"What makes you think I'm not getting exactly what I want, huh?" Anti smiled at Mark, and he took a risk, leaning forward to kiss Mark on the mouth.

Well, more accurately, to press his mouth against Mark's, then bite Mark's lips, but Anti didn't know that it was the plan, until after Anti's sharp teeth were digging into the soft skin of his lip, and more of that iron rusty blood was filling up Anti's mouth, and it was so, so satisfying....

Another slap, hard enough that Anti's ears were ringing, and Anti stared at Mark, slightly addled. 

"Maybe... maybe I'm doing stuff to make you do it," said Anti, still loopy from the hits to the face. His head was throbbing, in time with his cock, in time with the cuts that were still kinda dripping sluggishly, and everything felt a bit... it felt... it felt....

"Stupid," said Mark. There might have been some other words before that, but Anti wasn't entirely sure just now. 

Everything was spinning, he was... he was hard, he was panting, he was reeling, and he was shaking, ever so slightly. Just enough that the big muscle dummy was giving him those damn cow eyes that always got on his nerves. 

"I'm tired of your stupid face," Anti said, cross.

"Really?" And Mark's voice was getting... calm again. 

Uh oh.

But also - finally!

"Really," said Anti. "Your stupid fat face, your stupid - "

Mark grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him forward, walking behind him until his knees hit the table. Then Mark was shoving him forward, face down into the wood. 

"You're just a brat," said Mark. "That's all you are, isn't it? You're not some big bad evil entity, you're just a bratty kid who isn't getting enough attention." 

"A kid?" Anti's voice was legitimately indignant. "I'm older than you by eons, I'm -"

"Just an annoying little kid," said Mark, and he punched Anti, right on the shoulder, enough to knock the wind out of him. 

“Does that make you a kiddy diddler?” Anti wheezed.

Mark ignored him, grabbing his ass and squeezing it through his jeans. 

“I’ll be right back,” said Mark. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Where the fuck would I go?” 

“I don’t know,” said Mark. “But you always manage to find the way to be the most annoying, and I don’t doubt that you’d find some way to be a pain in my ass.”

“How would you be able to tell if I was a pain in your ass, without dislodging the stick there!”

There was a clatter, and a bunch of stuff was on the table next to Anti, although he couldn’t tell what it was that was there, since Mark was forcing his head into the table, looking in the other direction.

“I’ve got a stick up my ass, huh?” Mark sounded almost… smug. “Give it time.” 

“Are you going to put a stick up my ass? I mean, you are an ass bandit, but that’s taking it a bit far…”

“Do you ever shut up? LIke, actually shut up, mouth not moving, just sit there with your lips pressed together?” 

“Don’t see the point,” said Anti. 

“You’d probably make a lot more friends that way,” said Mark. 

There was more rattling, and then something cold and metal was tracing across Jack’s back, familiar and flat. 

“I don’t care about friends,” said Anti, and he pressed down on the knife, no doubt leaving some kind of indent in Anti’s skin. 

“No? If you had friends, you wouldn’t have to bug me for shit,” said Mark, and he was… he was cutting along Anti’s back, along his spine, just enough sting to make Anti shiver, his toes curling. 

He was cutting right through the fabric of Anti’s shirt, and he’d have to take that out on Mark later - Anti was fond of this shirt.

Inasmuch as he was fond of anything. 

“So why do I need friends, when I’ve got you,” said Anti, and he squirmed, letting the knife dig into him a bit deeper than Mark probably would have wanted. More black ichor, moving down his side like so much mud.

“Because they’d be less… annoyed at you,” Mark said. The knife moved lower, to the base of Anti’s spine, right above the crack of his ass. 

“You’re fun to annoy,” said Anti. “And I like corrupting twatty little goody two shoes like you.”

“What makes you think you’re corrupting me?” Another slice, and then the knife was clattering down, as the ichor dripped down into the waist of Anti’s pants, into his boxers. 

“Weren’t you going on about how you’re proving the dark shadows in my heart or some shit?” 

Mark was doing… something, Anti couldn’t tell what. 

But then there was a slap on his back, on his shoulder, and it made Anti bawl out, because Mark hit like a fucking _truck_ , and that was the kind of pain that creeps up on you, then bashes you on the back of the head. 

Or the back, as the case may be. 

“Fuck,” moaned Anti, and Mark landed another hit, a hit that stung and thudded at the same time, making his teeth rattle and his skin turn pink.

“Maybe if you ask me really nice,” said Mark, almost playful. He slapped Anti again, right over those palm prints, and Anti’s fists pounded on the table, the pain holding him in its teeth. 

"You've got fucking... shovels on the ends of your fucking wrists," Anti growled, as Mark landed another slap down, lower, on his sides. 

"You asked me to," said Mark, his tone nonchalant. 

"Why can't you cut me up anymore?" Anti grumbled, his face still pressed into the wood of the table. 

"Because your weird... stuff is staining my fingers black," said Mark. 

"Well, do something _interesting_ , I'm fucking bored." 

"You are such a whiny little brat," said Mark. He reached around for something next to Anti, and then there was the knife again, at the base of Anti's spine. 

"Gonna cut my balls off or something?" Anti laughed nervously, and his cock was twitching against the lip of the table at the idea.

Okay, no, he wanted to keep his balls. 

But the idea of Mark threatening him like that... well, that was pretty... appealing.

The idea of cold metal on his balls, of Mark growling in his ear... holy fuck.

Except not of that was happening.

"Forgot how hard denim is to cut," Mark said, and he sounded sheepish, which was just... urrgh. 

Big fucking idiot. 

Mark's big hands were on Anti's hips now, thumbs dipped under the waistband, and shoving them down, with Anti's underwear. 

His bare ass was sticking out, and the denim of Mark's own jeans were pressed against Anti's ass, the zipper was hard and unpleasant and _cold_ , even colder than the knife. 

The knife that was now on his ass, that was moving lower, that was pressing against Anti's balls, and it was just as terrifying as he had thought it would be.

It was cold, it was... it was metal, it was... it....

"Dude," said Mark, "you're moaning like I'm sucking you off."

Was he?

There was noise, and it was coming out of his mouth, vibrating through his chest.

So it was him.

How about that?

"Shut up," Anti growled, his whole face turning dark red. 

"Oh my god," said Mark, and he was laughing. "Oh my god. You want me to cut your balls of?"

"Fuck _off_ ," bellowed Anti, and he actually stood up straight, because the cold metal was no longer against his person, and he'd heard the clatter of the knife being set down. 

Mark slammed him back down, didn't even seem to be bothered by Anti at all. It was like he was swatting a fly.

Fuck, how could one idiot be so _strong_?!

"You're gonna stay in place, or I'm going to hit you harder. Do you understand?"

"How can you hit me harder than you already do?" 

Another hit, hard enough that it made Anti's teeth rattle, more pain, right up from his ass all the way to the crown of his head. 

 

"Point taken," Anti mumbled, and he didn't move after that, because he was shaking, the pain throbbing through his head, arousal so thick in his belly that he was almost drooling. 

There was some mumbling, some rattling, and then there was a stinging, desperate pain on his ass, hard enough that he howled.

"The ever loving fuck was that?" Anti brought one hand back to rub his his ass, but it was slapped away by Mark. 

"No," said Mark. "You asked for this, remember?" Mark was pleasant. 

He was so damn pleasant. He might have been doing an introduction on his stupid channel for his stupid viewers. 

There was something tapping Anti on the ass, gently, and it felt... plastic? Flat and plastic. 

It was right over the same spot, too. right on the same place. How did he manage to fucking do that?

"What is that?" 

"Guess," said Mark, and he whipped it across Anti's ass again, lower this time.

"I don't fucking know," Anti bellowed, as it got a bit too close to his balls.

It was a bit... terrifying. 

Not exactly as terrifying as having someone nearly remove his balls, admittedly, but still. 

It hurt like a fucking _bitch_ as well.

"You're... you're getting off on this, aren't you," said Anti, as another hit lashed across his thighs, and he was holding off on sobbing, because this pain was just... it was stinging, and it was almost too much, which was stupid. 

He felt like a fucking kinkster, at some stupid party, and that wouldn't do.

That was the kinda shit that the green idiot did, which wasn't a thing that Anti ever wanted to associate with himself. 

"This is fuckin' stupid," said Anti, trying to stand up straight.

Mark's elbow was on his back, and Mark's weight was keeping him down. 

"You wanted to provoke me," Mark said, in that same mellow tone of voice. "I said that I wanted to be left alone. You pushed me. So now you've got what you asked for, and now you're gonna just whine and whine about it."

A particularly vicious hit, and the plastic thing broke against Anti's thighs. 

"... seriously?"

Mark let go of Anti, so that he was no longer leaning over him at the slightly awkward angle. 

"What?"

"My spatula broke."

"You were hitting me with a spatula?!"

No way could something that... simple be so painful. No fucking way.

"Yep," said Mark. "Same spatula I use on Jack when he's being a brat."

"I'm not your fucking sub," Anti snapped. "I don't do your bullshit... kinky stuff."

"For fuck sake," Mark said, and he sounded genuinely frustrated. "You're such a goddamn... edgelord."

"No, I'm just not a pussy," said Anti, looking over his shoulder and smirking. 

There was a crackling, popping noise, which Anti couldn't place. 

Then more clattering, and... was that the sound of the oven being turned back on? The heck?

"You were telling me earlier," said Mark, "that you're not real, if I recall correctly?"

"Something like that," said Anti. 

"Which means...?" There was a clattering noise, and Mark was was pressing down on the bruises on Anti's thighs, from the spatula. 

"It means I can take a lot more punishment than your puny mortal frame could take," said Anti.

"Puny mortal frame, huh?" Mark lifted Anti up - actually lifted him up by the hips - and forced him onto his back, belly up on the table. 

His cock was hard and wet against his stomach, almost purple with desperation. 

He wondered, faintly, if he was glowing. He tended to do that when he was distracted. 

"So you really think you can take more pain than a regular mortal, huh?" Mark looked... nervous. Was he planning something? 

Guy might have had some deep dark fantasies about who knew what, but he was absolute shit at acting on them. He probably apologized to his jizz after jerking off. 

"Yes, I can take more fucking pain," Anti snapped, watching Mark through narrowed eyes.

"Good to know," said Mark, and he slapped Anti on the inner thigh. 

That was a stinging pain heretofore unknown to man.

Or at least, unknown to _this_... vaguely man shaped....

Actually, let's not go down that particular road. 

It was a pain that hurt so much that he tried to curl up like an armadillo, and Mark just held him down, and slapped him again, on the opposite thigh, close enough to Anti's balls that they tried to crawl back up his body, without much success.

"You know, Jack takes those a lot better than you are," Mark said cheerfully. "Are you sure you're not a wuss?"

"Go fuck yourself," Ant spat.

"If you're gonna be rude, I'm gonna be meaner," Mark warned. "Although I guess that's kinda why you're doing it, huh?" He walked away, and Anti couldn't see what he was doing.

He came back, and then he was leaning over Anti, grabbing his legs to force them further apart, reaching inwards.

Something hot was pressed against Anti's thigh. Something... something burning hot, something hotter than skin is supposed to feel. It took a minute for it to even register as hot - for a few moments, it was just _pain_. He could feel the shape of the thing - it had to be a knife, a hot knife blade, where had it gotten so hot? Had Mark shoved it under the burner?

Anti screamed. He screamed through his broken throat, still sore from the choking. He screaming, hard enough that his tongue brushed against a tooth and the viscous, tarry ichor he called blood dripped down the back of his throat.

The heat of it bore down into his bones, and he could... he could smell his own skin burning, and that was pretty fucking gross, it was enough to make his mouth water like he was going to be sick, but no, he was going to hold it in, he was going to hold it back, he was going to do it, he was... he was going to be fine. He was. The pain was in that one spot, on his upper thigh, and it stayed there, but it radiated as well, and the combination of it was... it was so much, it was too much, he was going to pass out. He was going to just lose consciousness. 

Except that would give the big idiot some kind of satisfaction, and fuck that noise. 

He could hear his skin... sizzling, and that was....

His stomach roiled, and he swallowed thickly, drool dribbling out of the sides of his mouth.

"Talk to me," said Mark, and he sounded on the verge of panic. 

He had to go and ruin it, didn't he?

"Maybe you're less of a pussy than I thought you were," said Anti, his voice shaking. 

"Good to know," said Mark, and he removed the knife.

It smelled a bit like burnt meat, which was not a way that Anti wanted to think about himself. 

He was above the meat. 

"You had enough?" Mark was eyeing the burn, which was no doubt already going shiny on Anti's thigh. 

He healed quickly. The cuts were already closed up.

"No," said Anti. "Not even fucking close."

"No?" 

"No."

Mark began to pinch along Anti's thighs, and the knife was... somewhere. Anti could smell hot metal, faintly. It was a sharp, silver smell, almost on the edge of his understanding. 

"Well," said Mark, "I don't think I can take much more of that smell, so I guess we're done working with the hot metal." There was a clatter, and then the sound of the sink being turned on. 

Anti couldn't see what was going on, but there was a loud hissing sound, and then there was steam. 

"That knife is done for," Mark said. "Good thing it wasn't one of the good ones."

"No? Am I not good enough?" The burn was throbbing in time with whatever it was that Anti called a heart.

There was still heat trapped under his skin, and it was making him shake. 

"I'm not ruining a good knife," said Mark. 

"Am I not good enough?" 

Holy shit. Mark was actually showing something like balls. There might have been some actual spirit in the big idiot yet! 

"Something like that," Mark said absently. He frowned, looking down at the burn - at the _brand_. "Should I treat that? I’ve got a cool compress, maybe some bandages?”

"I don't fucking care," Anti said dismissively. 

Mark rolled his eyes. 

"If your leg rots off, it's gonna be your own damn fault," he told Anti, ignoring the burn to run his hands along Anti's chest. 

The closed cuts were already turning shiny from the scar tissue, and in a few hours they would be gone.

That was a pity. 

The bite on his tongue was still throbbing like a heartbeat, though. To match the one in his cock.

"My leg isn't gonna rot off," Anti said in a long suffering tone. "Are you gonna actually make this interesting, or are you gonna keep me lying here on my back like a baby waiting for a nappy?"

"Why? Do you want a nappy? I'm sure I could figure out a way to do that."

"For fuck sake, Mark," Anti said, in a slightly disgusted voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Mark, his voice flat. "The weirdo who interrupts my dinner and demands I hurt him, to the point of provoking me, is weirded out by someone doing something weird."

"Fuckin' freak," said Anti.

Anti didn't need to see Mark's face to know that he was rolling his eyes. 

"You used "weird" too many times in that sentence, anyway," said Anti, and he was managing to sound downright smug. 

Pretty impressive, for someone flat on his ass with an obvious erection.

"So are you satisfied yet?" Mark's voice had gone down to an almost growl, and Anti shivered, his toes curling against the wood. 

"Never," said Anti, and he laughed like the nightmare of a hyena. 

"I guess I'll have to bring out the big guns," said Mark. "You stay right there."

"Where am I gonna fuckin' go? I'm naked and I've got a massive fuckin' burn on my leg," Anti called, as Mark went off to do... something.

"I don't know how you got here in the first place," Mark called back, coming back with a plastic bag full of something or other. It clacked when he put it on the table. "Now. Are you sure you don't want to just borrow a pair of pants or something and go home?"

"I'm waiting for it to get interesting," Anti told Mark, drumming his heels on the table.

It was really a good thing that Mark had this ridiculous dining room table, or this would all have been a lot more uncomfortable. 

Admittedly, it was hard to get more uncomfortable than a hot knife, but still.

Anti stared up at the ceiling, and he waited.

* * *

There was an odd little tugging, pinching sensation against Anti's thigh, and he looked down, confused. 

"Clothes pegs?" 

"Yep. I've got a lot of 'em." Another one, also on the thigh, and that was... that was actually starting to get a bit uncomfortable. They pulled on the skin, and the pressure was... kind of intense.

"Where do you even get all of these? Are you trying to open a fuckin'... laundry, or something?" Anti squirmed, and that made it worse, because it made the goddamn clothespins waggle. 

Mark was just lining them up, along Anti's thighs. He moved around the burn, but that was already being pulled tight, and the pain of that was like a tiny little mushroom cloud, endlessly billowing out along Anti's nerves.

Anti's belly was just one big puddle of pre-cum. 

"Now," said Mark, and his voice was quite serious, "do you think you can take any more?"

_God no._

"Fuck yeah."

Mark laughed, and he slapped Anti's thigh, under the clothespins.

The pain from the jiggle of it was enough that Anti kinda wanted to bite through his tongue. 

"Now," said Mark, and his voice was going down into that sexy baritone he got sometimes, when he was with Jack. 

Not that Anti would know that. 

Oh no.

"Now what? You're gonna actually do something, instead of just standing there with your thumb up your ass?"

"My thumb isn't up my ass," said Mark. "Do you want me to put my thumb up your ass?" 

All in the spirit of polite inquiry.

Fuckin' bastard. 

"No," said Anti. "If you're gonna put your money where your stupid mouth is, get on with it."

"Alright," said Mark. "But I will remind you, that you've asked for it." 

"As if you'd do anything worth - _what the fuck_?!" 

There was a clothespin on Anti's dick. 

There was a fucking clothespin on his dick. Right under the head, pinching the skin in its little wooden spring loaded grip. 

Fuck, that was painful. It was the kind of pain that just rode through him, like a horse, like a wave, like a fuckton of who knew what other kinds of natural phenomena, because the pain was just rushing through him, and it was bigger than he was - bigger than anyone was. It was just _there_ , and there was nothing in it that he could do.

"You're awfully quiet," said Mark, and another clothespin added, another and another and another, up and down Anti's shaft, adding more to his foreskin, where the pinch was especially… vicious.

"Shut up," Anti murmured, his eyes shut. 

Eventually, Mark ran out of space. 

Anti's cock was as bristled as a pine cone, and it was standing up straight, throbbing with blood. 

It was going to be bruised, dark blue and purple. 

"I've still got a bunch more clothespins," Mark said, in that stupid jovial voice of his. "But I seem to have run out of space to put them, huh?" 

"Are you saying my dick is small?" 

"God forbid I should insult your dick," said Mark, and he slapped Anti on the thigh, making everything jiggle.

And the pain of it made everything turn a bit white around the edges, until he caught his breath back. 

"It's better than whatever the fuck you've got," snapped Anti. 

Mark flicked the tip of Anti's cock, and the whole thing jiggled, which brought on another wave of that stomach churning, bile raising pain. 

"I mean, what the fuck that I've got isn't making me wriggle around like a worm on a hook," Mark said casually. 

He reached down lower, grabbing Anti's balls, and he pulled on Anti's sack, just hard enough to make Anti whimper. 

"I should've started from here," Mark said, and he attached a fucking clothespin to Anti's ballsack, making Anti shiver and moan. 

That just made it jiggle even more. It all jiggled, harder, and the pain of it just filled him up, like a glass of water. 

"I like you like this," Mark said, his voice rough. Another clothespin, pulling the skin of Anti's balls tight.

There was so much tightness, so much pulling.

It throbbed, in time with Anti's blood, in time with Anti's head. 

"Because you're... because you're a fuckin' sicko," Anti stuttered out, as more clothespins were added. 

Anti's ballsack had to be fucking flat, at this point, judging by the way it was being pulled tight. At least Mark wouldn't try to put them on his asshole, right?

... right?

Was that even possible?

"It's nice that you're finally being quiet," Mark clarified, as he added another clothespin. 

"I'm never gonna be able to have children," Anti mumbled, as Mark added more and more, until Anti's nutsack probably looked like a fucking hedgehog.

"You're not human anyway. You wouldn't have them the usual way anyway."

Mark sat back, and Anti got up on his elbows, which jostled everything even more, which was immensely uncomfortable, and his poor, abused cock throbbed like a toothache. There were even a few attached to his foreskin, which juddered every time he shifted position.

Mark looked... pleased with himself. 

"I'm going to go get a glass of water," said Mark. "Would you like one?" 

Anti sat up completely, and that was... that was horrible. It was painful and sharp, and it made his cock throb that much harder, his fingers shaking from the arousal that was just shooting through him. 

"You're just gonna leave me like this?" There was more whine in his voice than he really wanted, which was embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as the way he cried out when Mark casually leaned over and just flicked one of the clothespins just dangling off of Anti's thigh. 

"I'm getting you a glass of water," said Mark, walking towards the sink. He grabbed a glass, then turned the water on. 

He handed Anti the glass of water, and Anti drank it down. 

It was refreshing against his dry and broken throat, although fuck if he'd ever tell Mark that. 

"So," said Mark, looking Anti up and down with an interesting gleam in his eye, "you ready?"

"Ready for what? You putting more of those shits on me or something?"

"Nope," said Mark. "Quite the opposite, in fact." He put a big hand on each knee, forcing Anti's legs further apart. 

“Taking them off isn’t gonna hurt,” Anti scoffed. 

Mark made an amused noise. 

“I didn’t say how I was gonna take them off,” Mark said, and he drew his hand back.

He slapped the line of clothespins on Anti’s thigh, and they came off, clattering onto the floor and the table.

There was a moment of relief - sweet, blessed, cold relief. 

Then the pain - it was _hot_ , worse than having the damn things on had been, like your foot falling asleep, only moreso, and worse.

And it just didn’t stop, and he was sobbing, shaking, his hands covering his own mouth, to keep all the horrible noises coming out of his mouth, because fuck if he was going to be vulnerable in front of this big idiot.

His teeth dug into his fingers, and more of his sticky ichor dripped down his fingers. 

His own mismatched eyes met Mark’s brown ones, and he shivered, a full body shiver.

The clothespins clacked together.

“Want me to just take them off?” Mark delicately plucked them off, one by one, removing them off of Anti’s thighs, and it hurt, oh, the pain was completely different, but so achingly similar at the same time, and it all just hurt, it hurt and hurt and hurt, until he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think.

His own bloody ichor was drooling down his chin, and the pain of the clothespins was… it was blending with the pain in his thigh, the pain in his whole body, centering around his dick, which was still throbbing, the clothespins pulling it tighter. 

“How are you doing?” Mark’s stupid voice was concerned, and that just got Anti… it got him mad.

He spat in Mark’s face, the ichor contrasting sharply against his skin. 

“That wasn’t very nice,” Mark said, and he landed a slap on Anti’s dick. 

It knocked a few of the clothespins off. 

Holy fuck.

Anti’s stomach twitched, and so did his dick, as the pain slammed down on him like some kind of curtain, and he sagged forward. 

Mark let go of Anti, and he went to wipe his face off. 

The ichor stained the red dishtowel, as if it had been splattered in ink.

“You know what you should do?” Anti was slurring. How about that?

“Kick you out of my kitchen buck ass naked with a ball sack like a hedgehog?” Mark’s voice was back to its usual cheerful self. 

“You don’t have the balls,” Anti mumbled.

Mark just flicked one of the clothespins off of Anti’s, and the pain made him double over.

“Do you really want to be talking about balls right now?” Another clothespin came off, and Anti shivered convulsively.

So did his cock, which hurt. 

How had he managed to not lose his erection?

Well, aside from not being human and whatnot. 

“You should take these clothespins off of me and ride my cock,” said Anti, and he grinned.

“I could keep them on and fuck you,” said Mark. “Although I’d worry about you pulling some kind of spring trap on me.” 

“What, like your stupid Five Nights at Freddy’s monsters? I’m not an animatronic.”

“You sure? Sometimes it feels like I just need to push a button and get some surliness.” 

"... you don't push buttons for animatronics, though," said Anti, because sometimes the mind - even the mind of vaguely human shaped entities - seize on strange things.

Especially when aforementioned minds are kind of floating a bit farther away, with the arousal and the pain and the whatever it was that made his mind work... coming apart, then back together, all in one continuous line. 

Did that even make sense?

Mark rolled his eyes, and he went back to removing clothespins, until Anti's thighs were bare, covered in the little purple marks from the clothespins. 

His thighs were tingly and shaking, and he was panting, deep breaths over his sore throat and dripping tongue.

"Do you think you've been a good enough boy for me to take these off?" He flicked a clothespin gently. 

"Talking to me like that is gonna earn you some - ah!" 

"Do you _really_ want to antagonize me right now?" Mark pulled a single clothespin off Anti's dick, and the pain of it made him shudder.

He was going to cum, if he wasn't careful. 

That'd be embarrassing, wouldn't it? Cumming from this big idiot, not even doing anything... interesting.

Well, no, okay, you couldn't get much more "interesting" than "dick covered in clothespins," but still. 

Maybe "interesting" wasn't the word he was thinking of.

Why was he concentrating on words in the first place, when Mark leaning forward and pulling on another clothespin, and another, little firecrackers of pain that were making Anti's dick twitch and his toes curl.

"You're getting off on this, aren't you?" Mark sounded genuinely surprised. "I didn't realize you were _that_ much of a masochist."

"Shut up," Anti growled, as the last of the clothespins finally left his shaft.

It twitched, desperately, like Anti had stuck his finger in a wall socket. 

Mark put his hands on Anti's shoulders, and he kissed him, with his tongue and his teeth and his lips, wrapping one hand around Anti's cock, and that was... that... it was still so intense, full of pins and needles. The skin was stretched, and he was half worried that maybe he'd ended up tearing something important, but nothing was important, was important, except Mark's big hand wrapped around his cock, his thumb pressing down on the head of Anti's cock, his palm against the pinched, delicate bruises already starting to come up. 

"If I jerk you off, will you let me actually finish my dinner? Which is probably going to be gross at this point, since it's basically been simmering for much longer than it needs to be?"

"I want your dick," said Anti, shivering and rocking his hips up forward, right into Mark's hand. "C'mon. Stick your dick in me."

"Aren't you the romantic," Mark said, deadpan.

"You know you wanna put your dick in me," Anti chuckled, because now Mark looked a little... nonplussed. "C'mon. You're totally getting off on this." 

There was indeed the telltale... bulge, in Mark's shorts, a damp spot in the mesh. 

"You're still trying to provoke me, aren't you?" Mark gave Anti's dick one last, long stroke, tugging on Anti's foreskin, then letting him go, to squeeze between his own legs.

"Why do you think I'm trying to provoke you all the time? Maybe you're just delusional," said Anti, and his eyes were glued between Mark's cock. "Maybe... maybe you really are sick, and you just want to hurt Jack, so you're taking it out on me." 

Mark snorted. 

"I think you're jealous of Jack," he told Anti, and he was... he was pulling his dick out, holy shit. 

Anti always forgot how amazing Mark's dick was. 

It was thick. It was thick, and it was just long enough to not be some kind of terrifying monster dick, and its head was flushed, and it was leaking pre-cum.

Anti's mouth watered.

A bit of him wanted to take Mark's cock into his mouth - to _bite_ it, to see Mark whimper, writhe under him, sob, cry, all of it.

He wanted to hurt Mark, so badly - he wanted to bite him, to make him bleed, taste more of that iron.

Some other part of him wanted to... to do what Mark wanted, to be obedient, to be agreeable even.

_That_ was fucking weird.

"You're lucky," Mark told Anti. 

"What?" Anti shook out of his reverie, still staring at Mark's dick. 

"I've got lube," said Mark, pulling the small bottle out of his pocket.

"Why the fuck do you have lube?" Anti blinked at him, genuinely perplexed. "You and Jack or whoever else you're fucking often have quickies outta the blue?"

Mark blushed enough that Anti had a feeling that he had just poked a nerve. 

"Am I even the first person you've fucked on this table?"

"That is neither here nor there," said Mark, and he opened up the lube, dripping it across his fingers. "Are you ready?" 

"Stop being such a fucking pussy," Anti groaned. 

"Fine," said Mark, and he shoved Anti flat onto his back, spreading his legs open wider. He jostled Anti's poor testicles, and Anti groaned, 

"There we go," said Mark, and he forced Anti's legs open wider, to get access to his hole. 

Mark's fingers felt bigger than they looked. Much bigger. He wasn't doing the sweet, nice thing he did with Jack either, sweet and easy.

No, he jabbed his finger inside of Anti, and he curled it, merciless, feeling around for the one spot. 

"There you go," Mark was actually _cooing_ , as Anti surged forward, his cock leaking more fluid right across his tummy, Anti's legs dangling off the edge of the table and kicking this way and that. "There, that's better, isn't it? Isn't that nice?"

"What am I, your fucking dog?" Anti got up on his elbows. "Gonna give me a... a fuckin' treat next?"

"I dunno," said Mrak, and he twisted his finger, then added another, the tips digging into his prostate. "I'd call this a pretty good treat!"

Anti surged up against the table, almost bellowing, and he was jerking his hips forward as the icy, sweet pleasure jolted through him like so much electricity, leaving him desperate and twitching. 

He was leaking even more, dripping down the shaft of his untouched cock, still throbbing like a broken tooth. 

“Yeah, that’s it, just like that,” Mark crooned, his eyes on Anti’s face. He just kept staring, as Anti fucked against his fingers, and Anti hated himself for it, loved the arousal and the heat, loved… loved….

“ _Fuck!_ ” Anti bellowed, as he came, dry, his cock twitching even more, his whole body shuddering painfully, as the orgasm ripped through him, and he shook, then sagged flat against the table. 

“You take that better than Jack does,” Mark said, adding a third finger and fucking Anti with it, with gusto now, a lot faster. 

“I take everything better than that green haired pussy does,” Anti snapped, thrusting against Mark’s fingers.

His balls were really starting to ache - the clothespins would need to come off soon, or else his orgasm would be pure agony. 

Assuming Mark even let him have an orgasm.

No way Mark would be that mean, right? 

… right?

Anti made a slightly distressed noise, as Mark withdrew his fingers, and Mark was actually _smirking_ as he pulled a condom over his dick, dripping more lube across it, then lining up. 

“Are you ready?”

“I’ve been ready,” Anti snapped. “Just put it in me already?”

“Pushy, pushy,” said Mark, as he shoved his whole length into Anti in one long, smooth stroke.

“Oh, fuck!” Anti clenched around Mark’s dick, and he arched up into him, angling his hips to get more penetration, deeper, 

“Oh, god,” Mark groaned, and he leaned forward, nearly folding Anti in half in the process, pulling Anti’s legs onto his shoulders. He was fully seated, and the clothespins on Anti’s balls were pressing against his belly. 

“Fuck, Mark, oh, _fuck_ ,” Anti groaned, and his hand was on his cock, he was already so close, he was… he was….

* * *   
“Jack?” 

Jack, clutching the base of the dildo in one hand and his own cock in the other, opened his eyes and looked at Mark, upside down.

“W-w-what?” Jack stopped stroking, and he was shaking. His cock twitched in his hand - he was _so_ close, his toes curling, the clothespins on his balls sending little shockwaves of pain every time he shifted position.

“Shit, sorry!” Mark made to back out of the room, looking guilty. “Am I interrupting?”

“K-kinda,” Jack panted, adjusting his position to keep his leg from cramping up. He was on his back, one arm under his thigh, forcing the leg up so that he could fit the toy all the way into him and fuck himself good and proper. 

“Do you… do you want some help?” Mark licked his lips. “I’m not… I’m not comfortable with hurting you, per se, but if you, uh….”

“Can you pull the clothespins off?” Jack indicated between his legs, and he shuddered when Mark sat between them.

“Jesus, Jack,” Mark murmured. “I always forget what a masochist you are.” He grinned at Jack through his eyelashes, and he pulled the three clothespins off in one quick motion. 

Jack came - it was kind of embarrassing, honestly. His ass spasmed around the toy, and he shook and gasped, cumming across his chest, all the way up to his nipples. 

It was a real doozy of an orgasm too, leaving him limp and shaking, his eyes closed as he imagined his body that much more bloody and beaten, instead of covered in little bruises and self inflicted scratches.

“So,” said Mark, shoving aside the piles of clothespins, “you wanna tell me what you were fantasizing about?”

“Well,” Jack said, catching his breath and letting go of the dildo, “so Antiseptic was there, right?” 

Mark grinned, and Jack smiled back. 

Okay. So Mark wasn’t the evil sadist that Jack dreamed of. 

He was still a pretty awesome boyfriend.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you enjoy this fic? Check out my tumblr, TheseusInTheMaze.tumblr.com! I take requests!


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